


The Competition

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Consent Issues, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Past Thor/Loki explicitly described, Pseudo-Incest, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Loki sets to work immediately, plotting a way to get off Sakaar. The Grandmaster gets the better of him.





	The Competition

1.

 

Momentarily blinded his unexpected descent through the portal, Loki smelled Sakaar before he saw it. 

Between the odor and the velocity, his stomach was lurching, and when he ended up face down in a pile of rubbish, it was almost a relief. He did not even attempt to get up at first, he was so thankful just to be still for a few seconds. 

Loki allowed himself only a moment of self-pity, until his eyesight returned, to muse on how, of all the times he had fallen through space, this was only the third or fourth worst place he'd ultimately landed. 

Then, the klaxon blared. 

He could not see anyone approaching, but he heard whooping, and the sound of several people crashing through the garbage – a sound which was getting nearer. 

Loki looked around for a place to hide. He found nowhere suitable, but he did see a pair of verminous creatures scavenging in the garbage. He shapeshifted into a third one. 

Around him, hooded ruffians scurried, in search of whatever had triggered the klaxon. They hollered in their confusion, and poked at the rubbish with whatever implements they held. Loki looked to the other two creatures, so he could make himself even less conspicuous by imitating their behavior, but to his dismay they were now mating. He nosed around aimlessly in the trash until the masked gang determined that whatever had happened had been a false alarm. 

Loki climbed the crest of a trash heap to survey, but saw no one else, and so felt safe in resuming his standard form. At last, he could get a proper look at the lay of the land, though a sorrier sight he could not recall seeing: rolling hills of garbage, as far as the eye could see, and a mile or two off, a city, which resembled just slightly better-organized piles of garbage. Overlooking all this was a sky filled with portals, much like the one over his head, all of them depositing the occasional object into the wasteland. The city's location must have been deliberate; it was the only place above which portals were not spewing garbage. And that wretched place was his next destination. Loki thought he might weep. 

Maintaining invisibility was exhausting, requiring much more concentration than the simple glamour of a change of clothes or a duplicate. But he could not risk being seen until he knew what to look like, how to act, and how to speak, so he vanished.

 

 

2\. 

Loki spent a few hours getting a feel for the labyrinthine city, navigating its towers and trash, until he found himself near collapse and in desperate need of a place to rest and recuperate. He stole a bit of food off a cart, found an unoccupied shack, and slept. 

When he awoke, it was still light out, and from then on he eschewed invisibility, for he felt now he could conjure a suitable disguise. 

As he milled about in the throng, frequent announcements on a public address system provided him a basic understanding of  this place, Sakaar – a society shaped mainly by the fact that no one who ended up here was allowed to leave, ever. Those with gifts seemed to be using them at every opportunity to wheedle their way into the presence of the man who ruled the city, where they could then party and gamble their days and nights away, carefree and nihilistic, though no one, apparently, was as carefree and nihilistic as the ruler himself. 

Those _without_ gifts, well...they survived. Or they didn't. The gladiator arena drove many of them to an early grave, either competing in it or gambling their meager rations away at it. 

For Loki, eking out an existence was a fate worse than death. He had to get close to this “Grandmaster,” as Sakaar’s ruler was apparently called, and he had to do it soon. One day of scrabbling for food and shelter was unbearably humiliating. 

Observation of the flow of crowds and eavesdropping on local gossip pointed him to the tallest tower, where most of the rabble in the streets could only dream of setting foot. It was a city in its own right; if one had the resources, one could have all their needs and desires fulfilled within its walls, and need never be subject to the cutthroat marketplaces or deadly side streets. By sundown, Loki was approaching this tower, his glamour more ostentatious now, so that he looked like he belonged there. 

He paced back and forth in the lobby of the tower until a group passed by who were clearly on their way to a party. He fell into step behind them, effortlessly adopted their manner of dress, and a guard let him in with the group. Too easy. 

To his disappointment, as glitzy as the party turned out to be, the Grandmaster was not in attendance. No matter. He chatted with some of the attendees until he learned enough to get himself into a more prestigious party that was happening the following day (and into decent lodgings in the meantime). Still no Grandmaster, but at least there were people there who had seen him with their own eyes – not just one of his frequent and grandiose holographic projections. 

Loki made the rounds at this party, introducing himself as an exiled noble, leaving out the specifics. He crafted careful statements and seated them in casual banter, which made it seem to others like he'd been here for years, and knew the place inside and out, but which prompted those he chatted with to provide him with vital information. Everyone here was ready to brag, gloat, and self-aggrandize if they thought it might raise their status one iota, and some of them even got the impression that Loki already knew the Grandmaster, and were clearly hoping that he would put in a good word for them. 

These various conversations confirmed his suspicions, that no one was allowed to leave Sakaar while the Grandmaster lived – a foolish way to rule, Loki thought, as it left those who wanted very badly to leave with just one option. But he also learned that the Grandmaster was a genuinely powerful being of some sort, which explained why anyone who had pursued that option had not yet succeeded. Good to know. 

Most importantly, though, Loki learned which party the Grandmaster would be attending the very next evening.

 

 

3\. 

Loki had a little less than a day to decide what his strategy would be. Proximity to the Grandmaster and the status it conferred would give him access to new methods for escape. But proximity to the Grandmaster could be fleeting, if you were not the woman who doubled as his enforcer and personal assistant, or either of his topiary-coiffed bodyguards. The Grandmaster was easily bored, always chasing the novelty, the cheap thrill. Unbeatable when it came to games of skill or chance, he resorted to pitting lesser beings against each other for his entertainment. That was a pastime Loki understood, at least. Another mutual appreciation they had was for _presentation_ – nothing was worth doing if it wasn't worth making a spectacle out of. These things would be Loki’s foot in the door, now that he had at least a toe in. 

Having arrived at the party, Loki spotted the Grandmaster, then stayed within his field of vision at all times, but did not approach. He wanted to see if his intriguing smile and arching eyebrow would lure the Grandmaster to him. And indeed, it took only a few minutes before the Grandmaster, ostentatiously dressed in metallic robes and accompanied as always by the formidable Topaz, sauntered over to meet his unfamiliar guest. 

“Well, hello.” The Grandmaster looked Loki up and down, with just a hint of lasciviousness. “Who are you? I don't remember you being delivered to me.” 

“Delivered?” Loki thought back to the klaxon, and the scavengers who had responded to it. He smiled guilelessly. “I guess you could say I delivered myself. I heard that on Sakaar ruled a man of...” Loki looked down at his sapphire-blue martini glass and the spear of booze-soaked fruit slices sticking out of it. “...elegant tastes. I, too, like to be surrounded by the finer things, and so felt I had to experience Sakaar myself. In my long years of travel through the galaxy, I'd just never found anything...satisfying.” 

Topaz eyed him suspiciously, but Loki’s confidence did not, could not, falter. The Grandmaster didn’t seem sold, but he was also not ready to dismiss this attractive stranger. He held out his hand to one side, which Loki at first took to be some sort of greeting, until someone dutifully put a drink into it instead. “I hope you've found Sakaar to your liking. It’s just a little place I whipped up, but it’s home, you know?” 

“Oh yes,” Loki said, “I must say I’ve found it _enchanting_.” With this, he gestured at the Grandmaster's glass, and the liquid inside began to change colors, in time with the pumping music and the disco lights. 

The Grandmaster's eyebrows went up as he pointed at the tiny spectacle. “Wow, that is good. That is good.” He then drank it, without even asking if it would harm him to do so. That told Loki a lot. “Do another. Do hers.” The Grandmaster pointed at a partygoer across the room, who was just about to have her drink refreshed. Loki flicked his fingers, and as the drink was poured, a harmless burst flame shot up from her glass, startling the two men and the woman fawning over her. Once they found themselves unscathed, however, they began to laugh hysterically, looking around for the culprit. 

Just then, Loki was blessed by an incredible stroke of luck: a man in gleaming but sparse and purely decorative armor entered the room, and two different women who noticed his entrance immediately abandoned their conversations to make for him. Making sure the Grandmaster was watching, Loki conjured a three-dimensional maze, suspended webs of blue fire, between each of the women and the ersatz warrior they desired. Only with great caution and dexterity could the maze be safely navigated, but once both the women understood the challenge, they glared at each other, signaling their refusal to concede, and began their respective perilous journeys, agonizingly balancing haste and care, hindered by their fabulous but impractical outfits. 

“The fire won’t burn them if they touch it,” Loki confided to the Grandmaster. “But they don't know that.” 

The Grandmaster, riveted to the impromptu contest, couldn't help but chuckle at this; it made the women's frantic scrambling that much more amusing. 

The first one to reach her quarry leapt into his arms, a level of enthusiasm he was not prepared for, and he dropped her. This, the Grandmaster found to be the jewel in the crown of the bit of entertainment that had been provided to him. His gaze met Loki's, this time with more genuine interest.  “Let's walk around,” he said. 

The Grandmaster graciously allowed Loki to charm him and regale him, and Loki punctuated an almost completely made-up biographical tale with several more entertaining but harmless tricks. A glass that wouldn't fill, no matter how much was poured into it; a drink that poured itself; music that sped up until those dancing nearly collapsed. Everything he did made the Grandmaster laugh, but nothing gave away what Loki was truly capable of. 

The Grandmaster was not one whose attention could be held forever by simple illusions, but by the end of the party, he’d made it clear by his lingering gaze and some incidental caresses that he was more entranced by Loki's silver tongue and mischievous eyes than by his party tricks. “I'd like to invite you to one of my parties,” he said, draping his arm over Loki’s shoulders. 

Loki's eyes darted around. “Am I not at one of your parties?” 

“I mean one of my _private_ parties. Aboard my ship. Very intimate, only twelve or fourteen people. Sixteen, tops, if the pilots join in, but that was only one time.” The Grandmaster was briefly distracted by the memory. “What a ride that was,” he sighed. 

“I'd be delighted to attend any soiree you host,” Loki said with a smile. 

“Good, good. I'll have the official invitation sent to your pad.” 

Loki decided to try his luck, now. “Ah, well you see, the thing is, I've been finding my 'pad' woefully inadequate these days...” 

Too easy; the Grandmaster clapped his hands. “Say no more. You're in the Admiral Suite now.” He leaned over to Topaz. “He's in the Admir...oh, you've got it. Wonderful.” Turning back to Loki, he said, “It's just one floor down from the Penthouse, you'll love it.” 

“I've no doubt of it, and I really can't thank you enough for your generosity,” Loki replied, but his eyes said, _I deserve every bit of it_.

  

 

4\. 

Shortly after the invitation to this “intimate” affair arrived at his door, Loki received several other visitors: a cook, who brought delicacies at regular intervals; a decorator, who personalized his new suite for him, and lastly a tailor, who handed Loki a sealed note. Loki opened it, and read: 

_Wear something nice for me_. 

He now found himself in a dilemma – custom-made clothes were a good thing, better than glamour, in case anyone were to touch him. But the Grandmaster's style was so _garish_ – and Loki had a lot of pride. What could he wear that would please the Grandmaster, while holding onto his own superior fashion sense? He would not wear something, no matter how much status it might confer, if he did not feel that it flattered him. 

He started with the cape – the easiest piece, as it was an accessory both regal and flashy, and so would satisfy both his and the Grandmaster’s tastes. No one seemed to wear green here, so he chose gold for it, and blue for the rest, as he knew those were two of the Grandmaster's favorite colors, and he simply could not bear to wear the third: red. 

While the tailor brought the final design to fruition, Loki sulked in his suite; there was not much else to do on this savage world of glitter and garbage, if one did not wish to engage in unceasing debauchery and barbarism. He had not seen a book the entire time he'd been here, and on all sides of his lodgings, the Grandmaster's other favored guests turned their rooms into louche dens of drunken revelry, guaranteeing he would not get a moment's peace. He was at least happy to no longer be knee-deep in squalor – the closer to the Grandmaster, the more pristine things were, he had noticed immediately – but even the most prestigious rooms on Sakaar lacked the elegance of the lowliest of Asgardian dwellings. 

When it arrived, Loki evaluated the complete outfit in the mirror, and although the tailor was ecstatic and complimentary about the choice of colors, Loki gritted his teeth. He had twice been a king, and now he was back to doing what he'd vowed never to stoop to again: currying favor. 

And this party he was going to – an orgy, there was no getting around it, and the euphemisms be damned. Seduction was a legitimate technique for getting what one wanted, but Loki had a distaste for it; he was extremely selective about his lovers, and anyway he felt the method was for amateurs. But, in the circumstances, if it were the most effective means, there was nothing wrong with leading the Grandmaster on. A few days of playful teasing would likely only entice him more, get him to give up more useful secrets as he was strung along. 

But however much he and Loki might both enjoy a bit of fun and a good laugh, Loki could not bring himself to be attracted to a temperamental lunatic – he didn’t need the competition, frankly. 

He found his consolation when he examined the Grandmaster's party invitation more carefully the second time, and noticed the venue: the _Commodore_. 

A starship.

 

 

5\. 

The interior of the _Commodore_ was gleaming, and stuffed with capacious furniture, pieces that would be comfortable to sit on, or recline on, with one or several other people. Loki stepped onto the passenger deck with the other invitees, most of them humanoid, and brushed his fingers over a broad circular chair, plush and velvety. 

Aside from the ramp into the passenger deck, the only exit seemed to be into the cockpit, in which Loki could currently see the pilots preparing for the flight. Loki was anticipating a drunken orgy wild enough that it might spill over into the flight deck, as the Grandmaster had suggested. Failing that, he might be able to simply wander over, feigning curiosity or simply naiveté. In either case, while everyone else was distracted or napping post-coitally, he could extract whatever access codes or operating instructions he needed to facilitate stealing the ship at a later date. Too easy. 

The atmosphere on the passenger deck was tense with anticipation, full of giggling and whispering. Loki was a bit overdressed for the event – everyone else were wearing outfits that looked as though they would wind up entirely on the floor with just one swift yank, or one snip with a pair of scissors. 

Once everyone was on board, the Grandmaster appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and welcomed his guests. The ramp was drawn up behind him, and the doors shut as the engines came on. To Loki's dismay, so too did the interior doors slide out and close off the passenger deck from the cockpit. Simultaneously, the lights went down, sensual music began to play, and trays of booze, fruit, and canapés were uncovered. 

But all hope was not lost, though the doors had closed. Loki did not have the ability to phase through solid matter, but he might still have a chance to shapeshift into a creature small enough to access the cockpit by some other route than the door. He turned to surreptitiously scout for any small means of access, and bumped into Topaz. Now it was harder not to despair. Under her surveillance, what he hoped to accomplish might indeed prove impossible. 

Topaz stood against the wall, uninvolved and taciturn, quietly making sure that everyone observed the rules. Meanwhile, the Grandmaster invited Loki to lounge with him on a low, overstuffed red couch. He was already holding two drinks. Loki dutifully sat down and took the drink the Grandmaster proffered, his mind still racing to come up with an alternative to his plan. 

“You like the ship?” the Grandmaster asked. “It's the pride of my fleet. Let me tell you about its features.” 

With these words, the Grandmaster had Loki's undivided attention, but it soon became clear that none of the features that the Grandmaster intended to discuss were to do with its security system, weapons, speed, or space-worthiness. Instead, Loki listened patiently while the Grandmaster explained which things reclined, which things dispensed drinks, and which things vibrated. 

Loki was so distracted by plotting that he didn’t notice at first that the Grandmaster had begun to stroke Loki's free hand with his own. Loki thought it would be best to reciprocate, so he caressed the Grandmaster's knuckles, and when the Grandmaster was done bragging, their gazes met and they stared deeply into each other’s eyes. When he reached the Grandmaster's little finger, Loki traced the ring there with his fingertip, and quickly gleaned two important pieces of information: 

First, the ring had a secret compartment behind the jewel. Second, that compartment currently held a powerful substance that was familiar to Loki. Absorbing the residue of it through his skin, feeling just a hint of the effects, he identified it as a particular kind of aphrodisiac, which also had a mild sedative effect. Though he was somewhat surprised that the Grandmaster would employ such a substance, Loki was not terribly concerned about it. The amount that could be concealed in the ring might affect an ordinary mortal, but not him. 

In fact, to be honest, Loki was a bit flattered by the notion that the Grandmaster was intending to spike his drink. Lesser beings probably fell at the Grandmaster's feet with no provocation, but if he wanted Loki, and thought Loki needed to be drugged in order to facilitate that, it meant the Grandmaster considered him powerful enough to not be so easily seduced – but also weak enough to be susceptible to such substances. High status but not a threat, just the amount of power that Loki wanted the Grandmaster to believe he had. 

The Grandmaster leaned forward and murmured in Loki's ear. “Your outfit is very, ah, unfair.” 

Loki hummed, “How so?” 

“Well, it looks awfully difficult to remove, and yet it hugs every curve, accentuates every angle, which makes anyone who sees you in it want to remove it very badly. Seems like you're challenging everyone.” 

Loki tilted his head just slightly, teasingly, to whisper back. “Perhaps I am,” before they exchanged a kiss. 

Though he couldn’t see it, from the shifting of the Grandmaster's arm, Loki knew that he was emptying the contents of his ring's secret compartment into Loki's drink. But Loki remained confident. When they broke their kiss, he even took a little sip. As they continued to trade flirtatious remarks, he took another drink – the Grandmaster would trust him more if he thought Loki was gullible and compliant. 

That, in turn, would make it easier to carry out his mission. It occurred to him, though it would take a little sleight of hand once he got in, that perhaps he could simply ask the Grandmaster for a tour of the flight deck. The Grandmaster was proud of the ship; he might be delighted to show a little more of it off. Loki turned toward the door to the cockpit, and with the swiveling of his head, a deep disorientation suddenly overcame him. The whole ship seemed to tilt, and everything he heard was infused with a fuzzy hum. Around him, unfazed partygoers continued to giggle and undress, which told Loki that it was only his own head swimming. 

From far off, but at the same time from just a few inches away, came the Grandmaster's voice. 

“You feeling good? You enjoying your drink?” 

“I am,” Loki insisted, forcing a weak smile. Perhaps he had underestimated the potency of that ingredient. His head lolled to one side, and he saw a bevy of orgiasts now undressed and copulating. There seemed to be more of them on the ship now than he had seen come on board, but that might just have been the result of his blurred vision. He was aroused, though he wasn't sure why he ought to be. The mere sight of the Grandmaster’s cavorting guests should not have provoked such a throbbing and tingling in him, he was certain... 

He could still do this. He could still get the access codes. But he had to admit, it was becoming harder to think. Not only was he dizzy, but it was also uncomfortably warm in the room. He took a drink to quench his thirst, then realized that he'd just made things worse for himself. He felt like if he could just get some cool air on his face, that would clear his head. But no such thing seemed to be forthcoming. He tugged at his collar. 

The Grandmaster laughed. “Regretting your choice of outfit now, huh? Don't worry.” He held up one hand, and with a simple gesture, three half-naked partygoers surrounded him. He stood up from the couch to make room for them to descend upon Loki. They took the drink from Loki’s hand before setting to the task of removing his clothes. Tucking nimble fingers into every fold and seam, they sought out the lacings and fasteners. Loki did not, could not, hinder them, and still it took the effort of all three of them to free him from his cape, boots, vambraces, pauldrons, belt, jerkin, and trousers. 

Without lifting a finger, Loki was now completely naked before the Grandmaster, who nodded with approval, his hands clasped together. In the back of his mind, Loki thought that he should be embarrassed, or at least feel vulnerable. But it was just such a relief to have his clothes off. They had been so hot and confining. 

The three assistants then helped the Grandmaster out of his robes; this process took little longer than the blink of a eye, as he always dressed for comfort and ease of removal.  The moment they were finished, the Grandmaster shooed them away. As he knelt down on the floor in front of the sofa, he gently parted Loki's knees with his hands. “No need to be shy, sweetheart, let's see what you – oho, _wow_.” 

The Grandmaster seemed more impressed by what Loki had between his legs than by any tricks or illusions he had performed. He even called Topaz over, pointing at it. “Now there's something you don't see every day, huh?” The Grandmaster walked his fingers up the insides of Loki's thighs, at last brushing them against his engorged labia, and the stiff prick at their apex. “Gorgeous,” he remarked. 

Although he felt as though he was in a dream, Loki was sure that he was closing his legs defensively against the Grandmaster's probing fingers – in fact, he could picture himself having done so, over and over. But when he looked down, he found that he had instead slid down against the cushions, pushing his pelvis against the Grandmaster's hand, urging his fingers deep inside. 

While employing wicked twists of those fingers, the Grandmaster slowly stroked Loki's cock with his other hand. Loki felt each touch viscerally, and his body twisted with pleasure. It was like a desperate itch being scratched perfectly, a mélange of satisfaction and an intensification of the desire for more. 

The Grandmaster murmured, “You want to feel something even nicer, kitten?” 

“Yes,” Loki answered. He felt his ankles being gripped, his legs being lifted, until they rested on the Grandmaster’s shoulders. The Grandmaster tucked himself up close; Loki felt hot and confined again. 

He was so wet, the Grandmaster's cock slid right up into him. They groaned in unison at the depth he reached with so little effort. Every stroke thereafter was long and slow, deliberate and thorough. Loki whimpered with each agonizingly exquisite thrust. 

“That good, hm?” the Grandmaster purred. “That hitting all the right spots?” 

Flooded with what felt like soft electricity, the last of Loki’s sensibility slipped away. “Mmm,” he slurred, “it’s not as…not as big as my brother's.” 

The Grandmaster froze mid-stroke. “Whoa, haha, was _not_ expecting that answer.” He slowly resumed his rhythm, reaching out to caress Loki’s cheek and chin. “But I am definitely intrigued. Why don't you tell me more?” 

Lulled by this warm intimacy, Loki tried very hard to tell the Grandmaster the story of his first time with Thor, although how much of it he was just going over in his mind, and how much was actually coming out of his mouth, he could not be sure. 

He described an eager Thor, seated on the luxurious divan in his bedchamber, pulling Loki into his lap. Thor had caught only a glimpse of him from the front, once their clothes had come off, and so did not yet know Loki’s secret. Loki had concealed this secret for many years, and so had taken the opportunity then to give Thor a nice surprise. He had nestled his rump against Thor's cock, aligning it with the cleft of his arse, and then slowly lifted himself, leaning forward slightly as he did so. Thor had watched first in awe, then in confusion, as the head of his cock slid against a tight pink arsehole, and then, as Loki tilted himself further, against a set of plush lips and a dripping cunt. Loki had swiveled his hips, rubbing against Thor's blunt glans. 

Thor's jaw had dropped. He’d reached around Loki's hip to grasp his cock, just to confirm that nothing he'd seen had been an illusion. “Oh,” he had breathed, too stunned by Loki's revelation to move. Loki had gleefully continued to rub himself up and down, teasing his wet pink flesh against Thor's hardness, until he himself could stand it no longer, and treated Thor to the sight of his cock being engulfed by a sweet, succulent cunt. 

Their coupling had been ferocious and euphoric, and knowing that what they were doing was forbidden made it all the better. Loki had ridden him as if taken by madness, growling with pleasure, teeth bared, as Thor stuffed himself deeply inside. 

Sinking further into the cushions of the Grandmaster’s hideous sex furniture, Loki smiled at the recollection of Thor's ardor, his strong hands and harsh breaths. This blissful memory blended with the present, with the splayed, dizzy fuck he was almost entirely certain he was experiencing now. The Grandmaster gripped Loki's thighs tighter at the sight of Loki's expression, which had gone from drowsy and helpless to pleasantly wistful. He asked, “Are you thinking about him?” 

“Mm hmm.” Loki managed a single nod. “He loved me. He would do whatever I asked him to do to my body.” Loki giggled and squirmed. “He would put his tongue _anywhere_.” 

The Grandmaster was panting now. “Did you love him?” he huffed. 

Loki was struggling for words. “I didn't,” he said, and this made the Grandmaster smirk, until Loki managed to continue a little: “I didn't _want_ to, but...” 

“Keep thinking about him, honey,” the Grandmaster pleaded, for doing so was clearly intensifying Loki’s pleasure, making his cunt clench, making him wetter. 

Loki arched and smiled, damp and feverish, happily obeying the Grandmaster’s request. He felt the same kind of delicious fullness now that he’d had with Thor, the sensation of being overstuffed but at the same time desperate for just a little bit _more_. 

“Good, good. Come for me, sweetheart,” the Grandmaster whispered, his hand on Loki’s prick stroking high and tight. “Come for me, and show me how much you enjoyed fucking your brother.” 

Loki whimpered, “Uh huh, uh huh, _yes, oh_.” His cock and cunt flexed in unison as both gushed. He cried out, his thighs continuing to twitch against the Grandmaster’s chest for half a minute more, as his orgasm worked langorously through him in his drowsy state. 

The Grandmaster continued to pump him, urged on by the protracted spasms of Loki’s pelvic floor, remarking as he finally settled down, “Oh, haha, that was, that was delightful to watch. And to feel.” He dipped one hand down beneath where his and Loki's bodies were joined, tucking his thumb against Loki's arsehole. “I think I'm going to save this one for later. It's nice to have something to look forward to.” 

With that, he wrapped his free hand around Loki’s thigh and gripped tightly behind his knee, drawing out the buildup for just a few more seconds, enjoying the tension. At last, he groaned unashamedly, his hips stuttering as he spilled into Loki’s slick cunt. His noises of gratification seemed to Loki to go on forever, even drowning out the music. When he heaved a final sigh, applause erupted from the other partygoers. 

“Thank you, oh my, thank you, haha, really it's him who deserves the credit.” The Grandmaster gestured to an exhausted, bewildered Loki. “Hear that? That's for you, kitten.” 

Moments later, the orgiasts returned their various attentions to each other, and the Grandmaster untangled Loki's body from his own, guiding his quivering legs gently down until his feet touched the floor. 

The Grandmaster seemed not in the least drained by their vigorous activities, but he observed that Loki was struggling to sit up straight. “Wore you out, huh? I have that effect, sometimes.” He reached for a tray of thickly-cut and brightly-colored squares of fruit, and plucked from it the reddest, juiciest morsel, which he held against Loki's lower lip. “Have a little snack, honey, and get your energy back up.” 

The fruit was juicy-wet, and Loki was desperately thirsty. He opened his mouth and allowed himself to be fed. But his senses seemed to be returning; chewing despondently, for a little while he wallowed in his failure to get even one step closer to acquiring the ship’s access codes. But as the effect of the drink continued to wear off, his mind cleared a bit, and his eyelids didn’t feel quite so heavy. He realized then that he could not allow this failure to discourage him. He wondered about the next opportunity he might have, to expedite his escape from this wretched planet. 

But his head was still quite fuzzy, and his limbs were still less than cooperative, so that would have to wait. He sighed. The Grandmaster just smiled at him, and fed him more delicious fruit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this sort of nonsense


End file.
